Was she a groupie or wasn’t she? In a 2006 Op-Ed piece in UK’s The Independent, Germaine Greer, the feminist provocateur wrote: “Before Linda Eastman married Paul McCartney she was known to the other female habituées of the Fillmore East and Max's Kansas City as Linda Starfucker. For years Ms. Eastman cast her line for rock millionaires with a lack of success so conspicuous that she was a standing joke.”

I can’t dispute Ms. Greer’s anonymous sources but I can dispute her characterization. I knew Linda Eastman and she was no joke. She was a gifted photographer and a working single mother. Linda had unfettered access to artists like Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Simon and Garfunkel, The Who, and The Doors, to name a few. That’s why the “female habituées of the Fillmore East and Max's Kansas City”, as Ms. Greer describes them, were jealous of her.

I met Linda at Steve Paul’s “The Scene”, a nightclub situated in byzantine basement in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. The Scene wasn’t a classic discotheque. It was a reflection of Steve Paul, its eccentric owner. He fancied himself a hippy version of “Mr. Lucky”, the nightclub owner in the fifties television show. The brash 23-year old Paul stationed himself on a stool near the entrance. To gain admittance you had to brave one of his sarcastic put-downs. That was his cover charge. He liked to play mind games.

The Scene was the most unique rock venue in New York City. The same groups who played The Scene played Ondine but The Scene was home to the impromptu jam. Musicians from various groups who never played together before got onstage and jammed. Steve Paul locked the doors and no one got in or out. It was like rock n’ roll jail.

Tiny Tim warmed up the house singing camp show tunes in his signature falsetto years before he appeared on the Johnny Carson Show. When Tiny finished, he could do one number or seven depending upon his mood, the rock stars took the stage. That's when Linda Eastman sprang to action. She wore two Nikons strapped across her bush jacket like matching pistols. She was as much a fixture at The Scene as Tiny Tim and that's saying something.

Linda worked seamlessly with the musician, stalking them with her lens like a lioness stalks its prey. She was part of the act. The musicians loved her because Linda made them look good. No doubt she slept with a few along the way but that doesn’t equate to calling her “Linda Starfucker”.

Between sets Linda sat by herself and sipped chardonnay. That’s how I got to know her. She was a bit of a wallflower. Very waspy for a Jew from Scarsdale. She wore khakis when everyone else wore caftans. Linda liked to go against the grain. Sometimes we went upstairs with Steve Paul and smoked a joint. The sidewalk was teeming with hookers in hot pants. The Scene was located on 8th Avenue, a notorious red-light district.

Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix met onstage at The Scene. It was the most remarkable jam I ever saw. They joined Felix Cavalri and The Little Rascals after their show. Hendrix set the mood with a long guitar solo. Morrison got down on his knees and bowed to Jimi like he was a rock god. Jim was playing to the audience pantomiming the imaginary blow job he was giving Jimi. These two giants played together only once and Linda captured it with her Nikons.

She never claimed to be a professional photographer. Linda was modest to a fault. Meanwhile, the record companies began signing hot new groups and they needed publicity photos and album covers. Linda was sitting on the mother lode. Her work suddenly became valuable and Linda a sought after photographer. She was the architect of he own success. Were it not for the portfolio she built at The Scene nothing would have followed.

Linda had another full time job; single motherhood. She was raising a four year old daughter named Heather on her own. I don’t know how she managed. They lived in a modest rent-control apartment. Between cameras, lenses, film, darkroom, and rent, making ends meet was a constant struggle. Then, almost overnight Linda was in demand. She became one of Rolling Stone magazine’s top photographer.

That led to a plum assignment in London to photograph the "Swinging Sixties". I don’t recall the specifics but I can tell you this. Linda had a longstanding crush on Paul McCartney. Who didn’t? The Beatles’ were the most popular group in the world and Paul was considered the cutest mop-head. Every red-blooded American girl had a crush on Paul McCartney in 1967.

Linda met Paul at a Georgie Fame concert on May 15,1967 at The Bag O'Nails club in London. From there they went to The Speakeasy, a club on Margaret Street, to catch Procol Harum. They met again four days later at the launch party for the Sgt. Pepper album at Brian Epstein's house in Belgravia. Her assignment complete, Linda returned to New York City where all hell broke loose. Their romance was front page news.

The rumor mill was working overtime. While some accused Linda of fabricating the whole story, others accused her of a being a home wrecker. On top of everything else Paul was a married man. I had no reason to doubt her. Every fiber of Linda’s being changed. She was in love! Yet in the same breath she had a hard time reconciling her burgeoning relationship with a living icon.

Linda took refuge in her darkroom developing film from her London assignment. There were several candid close-ups of Paul. She used one to capture the most important photograph she ever took. It was a self-portrait done in the style of a photographic montage. She staged it with the help of her four year old daughter, Heather.

Heather poses in a wooden rocking chair in the foreground. She’s naked, sitting sideways, in sharp focus. Her body is obstructed by the chair, the pose unrevealing. Her chin rests in the palms of her hands. A perfectly cut blonde Pageboy frames her face. Her blue eyes gaze at the camera, pupils dilated.

A close-up of Paul McCartney’s face looms larger than life behind Heather. It’s haphazardly scotch-taped to the wall. The photo is out of focus and the flash from the strobe light casts a concave shadow. Paul and Heather are superimposed on top of each other with identical haircuts. Yet the contrast between them is striking. Heather is real whereas Paul is only a likeness. Linda looked to the future with some trepidation.

Linda would name the photo, "MY LIFE". She gave it to me as a gift and inscribed it on the back. It reads: "My Life! In your hands because you're a ‘trip' you always smile – X Linda"

Linda and Paul reunited in May 1968 in New York City and the rest is history. They married on March 12, 1969.